Language
by Keyte
Summary: Drabble - Though Kanda had to admit, once the door was firmly closed and the lights turned off, that it was nice to speak with someone else in his own language. CrossKanda


**Kiete: **You all have Saya-Sama to thank for this one. ;D

**407. **Yeah.

**408. **Give me more suggestions! I really liked doing this one! C: Muchas gracias a Saya-Sama! This one's for you, since you gave me good ideas; otherwise I wouldn't have come up with CrossKanda on my own! See, people? Give me ideas and I'll write stuff for you too!

**409. **Um... Yeah. I'm... working on it.. or something..?

**_Disclaimer_: Still don't own DGM. Still. And I still don't want to, but I hope Hoshino gets well soon! I _do _care that much.. **

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Language

If there was ever someone who brought something like _disgrace _to his native tongue, it _had _to be Cross.

The Japanese man crossed his arms over his chest, dark eyes narrowed. The older man across from him merely leaned back in his seat, brushing off the glare with a single, well-placed half-smirk. It was always unnerving how the older man could do that — no matter _how _hard he glared, how _fierce _his expression was, the redhead could make him feel as though the look meant less-than-nothing.

"You're drinking too much," he observed in Japanese, raising one dark brow at the other man. As if to mock him, Cross pulled a cigarette and silver lighter from his pocket and tapped it on the table. "And you shouldn't be smoking in here."

"Kid, I'll do what I want," the redhead flipped the silver lighter up, holding it delicately between his fingers. He twirled it, moving it between two fingers at a time, moving it faster and faster until it was a silver blur. Finally, he clicked it open and stopped, lighting the end of his cigarette and inhaling deeply to light it.

Kanda re-crossed his arms, trying his damned hardest to look unimpressed. "Che. Whatever."

The older man sighed heavily, exhaling a thin stream of smoke and granting the other a crooked grin. "Damn. Always seems to get the ladies."

"If you would _notice_, I am _not _a woman," the long-haired man snapped, leaning back in his own seat as the taller man offered his box of cigarettes with a languid motion. He answered the unasked question with a harsh look and an upturned nose, replying just as tacitly.

"You sure you don't want a smoke?" Cross asked easily, and the younger man had to fight the urge to wince. How could the other use his native tongue so flippantly? It was almost an insult, really, and he would have said something if it hadn't been for that grudging respect he had for the older man.

"I'm positive," Kanda snapped, feeling the words leave his tongue with an almost acidic feel. He watched the other's smoky exhale with an expression of distaste, not even noticing that the redhead had stretched across the table and was reaching for a lock of his thick black hair.

Cross twirled the strand around his finger, unfocused brown eyes suddenly drawn to the younger man's face. "Kanda, you're very pretty." Despite the way his eyes were unfocused, the man's speech was surprisingly coherent, and the lazy smile on his lips was more than obvious.

"I am _not _pretty." The Japanese man paused, wondering how in the world he could get the older man to speak in English. Or French or German or Icelandic or Flemish. Some, something _other _than his _own _language.

"No, you are," Cross insisted, moving his hand to cup the other's cheek, a half-smile on his lips.

"Then that's _definitely _the alcohol talking," Kanda replied sourly.

It took him a while of prodding and subtle insistence, and then some _more _prodding and not-so-subtle _demands _that the redhead stop drinking and _go _to bed. And then it took him another long while to herd the man up the stairs, push him into his room and get him to _lie down_ instead of trying to touch his hair or his face or trying to plant soft kisses on him, kisses that tasted vaguely of the alcohol he had been drinking.

"_Cross_," he snapped finally, pointing at the bed. "_Go _to sleep."

The redhead lay down on top of the coverlet, half-smiling. "Oyasumi."

"Good _night_," he said acidly in crisp English.

Though he had to admit, once the door was firmly closed and the lights turned off, that it was nice to speak with someone else in his own language.

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I had fun with this one!

Review.


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